


Trying To Pretend

by spokesandhill



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Angst, Character Study, Childhood Trauma, Dead Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak is a Mess, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Omniscient, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-11-24 01:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spokesandhill/pseuds/spokesandhill
Summary: Eddie is successful. He has a wife, a good job, a house, the safest car on the market, and insurance. Everything should be perfect, except it wasn't. Something was missing, and for the life of him, Eddie doesn't understand what. Derry is far behind him, and yet, when he receives a call inviting him back for the funeral of an old friend from Derry, he can't bring himself to refuse.In a series of events, Eddie finds himself more and more tangled in the bind of old memories, the Losers Club, and Richie Tozier. The world he hoped to forget has come back to him, whether he likes it or not.Basically, this headcanon takes place in a world where the only real evil is in other people and yourself, not clowns.





	1. A Rough Start

Eddie lived a life that was ok. Never aiming too high, never shooting too far, and, most of all, never *ever* going outside of what was comfortable. 

It started in the summer after defeating “It”. The Losers drifted apart into their own realms. He grew lonely, beginning to forget the confidence they gave him. Even his closest friendships fell apart—people moved out of town, or just found a better group to fit into. Eddie never felt like he found his alternative to the Losers, and lived day to day, worrying, cautious, slowly slipping.

He went to college, but never really enjoyed himself. Everything felt so…overwhelming. Not having his mom there, even if she was a little batshit, was hard to cope with. But he always swore he wouldn’t go back. He hadn’t been happy.

And then, she got sick. Really sick, for real sick, with cancer.

He left for a year, stayed by her side through the chemo, the doctor’s appointments. He always opted for more treatments, for anything. But despite all the medical attention he demanded they give her, nothing seemed to work. Nothing healed her completely. Moments of peace were followed by waves of further complications.  
He was powerless, more so than ever before. She would rarely speak to him, rarely praise him towards the end. It was like she knew he was failing her, yet there was nothing left to do. He stayed every night in the hospital recliner next to her bed, rarely sleeping. He watched, waited, slipping back every moment he stayed. When she could, she would lecture him about his own life, what he was doing wrong. And yet, he could never leave. He never just walked out, never just gave up. She was his mother!

When she died, it was rather dramatic. Eddie couldn’t remember exactly what caused it all. Organ failure? In any case, she’d left behind pretty much nothing except the estate and what money she had on hand. No money for a funeral, no will.

It was like even in the end, she thought she would never die.

From that point on, he had no idea what to do but survive—hold everything that was comfortable close to him—in her memory. It was like every medication, every caution, was in honor of her. He was desperate for control, desperate for the comfort of the past. He looked both ways, self-medicated, and pushed all his summers in Derry to the back of his mind.

And yet, though he was doing everything that felt right, something felt missing. Maybe it was the overwhelming feeling of “just ok”. Not valuing himself enough to go for what he deserved, staying in a stagnant life, never being challenged at anything he did. It was like he felt too guilty to do better, guilty that at that breaking point, he had let her go. Guilty that it felt so relieving. Desperate to find a replacement for the feeling in someone else

Her name was Myra, and she was…something. He wasn’t sure what he found so wonderful about her. It might have been that she was drawn to his desperation, and he suddenly felt wanted, a feeling he was so starved for. She was so…comfortable. She protected him. She urged him towards a career that fueled his anxieties, always making him fall back to her for comfort. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt…well…

He wanted to believe it felt right. He kept spinning it this way and that, making excuses. This kind of love was what he was used to. It made sense to him. So why did he feel so unfulfilled? 

Something about his time in Derry. His time with the Loser’s Club. Buried deep in his mind was the memories of guilt free happiness. The times he would forget to go home. The times he got so wrapped up in the moment that he forgot what he was so worried about. Peace, most of all—the times he felt peace.  
But Derry was years ago. It was in 1988. Thirty years ago! That was the past, and he couldn’t dwell on it. Besides, there were so many flaws in that pipe dream—the time he broke his arm, the times his mother would scold him and keep him in as punishment. The times he didn’t see anyone for so long, not seeing Bev, Ben, Bill, Stan, Mike, 

Richie…

The name felt like acid in his mind.

Richie seemed to dominate all the bittersweet memories. He remembered the times they would lay on Richie’s roof, stare at the sky, make ridiculous names for each made-up constellation. He remembered the few times Richie had been allowed over to the Kaspbrak house, how he’d be so uncommonly delicate with everything. The days Richie would sneak into the Kaspbrak house, into Eddie’s room and lay on the floor, just listen to whatever worries Eddie had about crushes, about school. Richie providing input, giving a coarse (sometimes unwanted, but always needed) fresh take. The times in the clubhouse, fighting over the hammock. Going to the comic book store. Getting ice cream together. Richie making jokes about his mom, Richie calling him cute, Richie smothering him with something that wasn’t like what his mother had kept him under. Richie felt like a light in darkness, a darkness he had always lived with.

Overwhelmingly, he remembered how Richie would always find a way to distract him from what was eating him to death. Richie had been the one to tell him didn’t need his inhaler. Richie telling him he was brave. Richie, lifting him up.

But he also remembered it not always being just fun and games. It never seemed to be any one thing, but everything that tore Richie from him, just a multitude of different situations coming to a head. He remembered Richie pushing him away somewhere in the middle of high school, finding other friends, and more and more excuses. He never saw Richie at the usual haunts as often, and when he was there, he wasn’t with losers, like Eddie. He would see Richie and some girl on his roof, pointing out the stars.

At that point he was grateful for the distance. He felt replaced, and most of all, forgotten. Bitter resentment felt like bile in the back of his throat. That, and the nagging thoughts that he had never been a good enough friend to Richie, even when Richie meant everything to him.

Those times when he remembered, he would throw himself into his work, bring Myra out to dinner, anything to remind him that THIS was the life he chose, that THIS was the RIGHT path. The days he couldn’t forget, those were the ones that sent him walking. Nowhere special or particularly adventurous. Usually he would go out and pace in the driveway, though Myra found out and started to dote over him when he did. Now, when he found time to escape, he would walk the neighborhood. A few houses down the street, a few houses back. Over and over. 

This was where he found himself when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, the signal of a call.

He pulled it out of his pocket to see a number he didn’t recognize. But, curious, he answered.

“Hello? Who is this?”

“Hey Eds.”

Eddie scowled in confusion. Nobody called him that, not that he could remember. It had also been a long time. “May I ask who’s speaking?”

“Its um…well, it’s Richie.” The man who claimed to be Richie seemed slightly…anxious? 

Eddie was beside himself, one could even say he was absolutely SHOOK. The anxiety of wanting to be friends again was followed by the bitterness that they had drifted apart.

“Richie…”

“Richie Tozier?”

“No, I know who you are. Why are you calling? How did you get my number?” Eddie winced at how accusatory he felt, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“I can work Google, Eds. And its um…do you remember…Stanley…”

“First of all, don’t call me Eds. Second, Stanley Uris? What about him?” Eddie didn’t notice it before, but the air was starting to feel cold around him. He walked faster.

“He’s um, well, how do I say this. He kicked the can.”

“Kicked the…what?”

“He’s with Jesus? Moses? Whoever the Jews believe in.”

“What?” Some part of Eddie didn’t want to make sense of what Richie was so obviously saying. Instead, he felt annoyed, annoyed by how Richie was being so silly. If he was saying what Eddie thought, he was saying he-

“He’s…” Richie’s voice barely faltered “He’s dead. Kicking Hitler’s ass or something now, I bet. Anyways, Beverly called me all emotional, told me to find you or call you or whatever. But I just found out you’re still on the East Coast, and I’ve gone west, so I can’t really just *walk* on over to you…” 

It took everything for Eddie not to scream at Richie. He felt so many things. He felt frustrated. Alone in his suffering. Punished. Angry! God, he felt angry!

“…I mean, I could technically. Walk, I mean. But, lets be honest, I’m not EXACTLY in the best shape at the moment, so it might take you know, 1 or 2. Billion years, I mean.” Richie continued, clearly trying to use humor to try and soften the blow “All the same…”

“Richie.” Eddie interrupted. He meant for it to sound forceful, angry, but his voice came out like a dull croak. He coughed before repeating himself “Richie.” 

“Hm?”

“Beep beep. Shut the fuck up, or I swear I will walk what would take you two BILLION fucking years in a minute and snap your FUCKING NECK.” 

Eddie paused. Coughed. He hadn’t spoken like that in years, and as angry as he was, it felt good to just speak. So, he kept going “I will rip out your spine. Hhhhhh! I’ll crush you. Ahhhhh! I’ll curb stomp your ass. I’ll do everything but…”

He was slowing down as he realized that he was wheezing, full on WHEEZING, for the first time in 30 years.

Silence fell on the line, as it was clear that Richie, for once, was thinking before he spoke. 

“Do you wanna know where the funeral is?” Richie said, sounding slightly softer. 

Eddie rolled his eyes, practically spitting his answer.

“Hhhh….Derry…”

“ Yeah, Derry. In two days. I’m at the airport right now. Everyone wants to meet up a little earlier.”

“Two??…Days??? Hhhh.”

Eddie was tearing up, and set his phone down, trying to ignore the feeling that his throat was closing oh god he was DYING oh God Where was his inhaler Oh Fuck.

“Eddie?”

Part of him wanted to hang up. He despised this interaction. But, some part of him knew that Richie was just trying to make him feel better. It wasn’t all just a joke to him, he just didn’t know how to…not be abrasive. 

“Hhhh….Yes…?”

“Are you ok over there?”

Eddie took a gulp of air, trying to force it down, hold it in. But he couldn't he was angry, and all of the bitterness was bubbling to the surface.

“I’m not ok! You’re making me freak out right now!”

“Oh.” Richie said in a tone that was indecipherable.

“I’ve gotta go, I’ve got to pack, I’ve got to call my work, book a flight…”

“One step at a time.”

“Fuck…You!” Eddie was yelling, which was probably the worst thing to do on a semi-secretive walk, as he happened to be in front of his own house. This occurred to him, and he quickly tried to really get himself under control. It would only be moments until Myra came out.

“…I’m really sorry.”

And then he was gone. Richie had left.

Eddie stuffed his phone in his pocket, still gasping, to see the front door opening, Myra seeing him, rushing out.

“Eddiebear! Are you okay sweetie? Do you need your inhaler? I think you do, just hang tight while I go get it for you. What on earth were you doing out here, yelling those things?”

Eddie shook his head. “Old…friend…”

“From Derry? That awful place…” Myra shook her head dotingly and hurried off to retrieve Eddie’s inhaler. Meanwhile, Eddie laid down, sort of slowly collapsed, in the driveway. She was right. 

Derry was an awful. Awful place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the rather rough interaction between Eddie and Richie. I was hoping to get across Eddie's perspective--the loneliness, the insecurities, all of that. I promise the next chapter will be a little less difficult, but I needed to get all of that out in the open. 
> 
> -S.S.A


	2. When You Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie thinks, Eddie sinks, and we trudge forward.

Richie slowly hung up on Eddie. He could tell that the other man was hurt, and the way he had been gasping made his heart ache. Eddie hadn’t changed a bit.

Not that he could say much for himself. 

He was a comedian now. Successfully, not just as a hobby. His glasses were still practically a centimeter thick, but they were slightly more stylish. He was unmarried, hadn’t really seen anyone since the few flings in college. Not that his heart didn’t ache for something more, it was just that nothing he’d ever had felt right. Nothing since, of course, hanging with the Losers in Derry.

Times with the Losers always seemed magical. That, and the times with Eddie. He remembered little things about Eddie, and every little thing felt important. His freckles. The time they first met, when Eddie had his arm broken. Eddie and him, sneaking into R-rated movies together. Sleeping in Eddie’s bed, the time he was in the hammock and Eddie climbed in with him, toed his glasses off his face. The nervous angry energy that made Richie really want to make him laugh. 

And when he did? When he got to see Eddie smile? It was just so rewarding. It was like a drug, a woozy sort of dopamine high that he started to get all the time. And so, he kept teasing, kept dogging on him and going in, joke after joke, anything to hear that laugh.

He supposed that’s what got him in the comedy. The realization that he liked making people laugh. It wasn’t really the same as with Eddie, but it was a different sort of saving that he did for people. Saving people from thinking too hard. 

He remembered sneaking over to Eddie’s in the night, talking to him about things. The pangs in his chest when Eddie told him about crushes and whatnot. It wasn’t like he owned Eddie or anything but something in him felt so possessive. HE was Eddie’s friend. Richie wanted him all the time, but often it was just too painful. 

Additionally, deep inside, he despised the sheer idea that he might be. You know. Gay. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be, but there was just so many internalized bits of fear that went along with the title. He couldn’t really place when the fear started. Sometime after middle school, something happened. The teasing got to him, he supposed. He wasn’t really sure what it was, but Bowers was always there, sneering at him, calling him a faggot, a queer, all of those things. And, more than ever, people seemed to notice how much time he spent with Eddie, how he cared so much.

And so, to make it stop, he pushed Eddie away. He wasn’t sure why, but he started believing what everybody kept saying, what it felt like EVERYONE believed. It wasn’t right. It just wasn’t RIGHT! It wasn’t fair to Eddie either, with what people seemed to think. So, Richie made new friends, went to college out of state, moved on, forgot it all.

Until now.

It was all flooding back. He’d been avoiding for a while now, calling Eddie. He’d been told a few weeks ago about the funeral, and yet….it took until the last moment for him to gather his frustratingly uncertain act together and call the guy. It was almost like he hoped that Eddie wouldn’t show, that Eddie wouldn’t be ready in time.  
~~~  
Boarding had started, so he put his phone away, checked his watch. He’d be there in a few hours, back in Derry again. Seeing the whole gang, under unfortunate circumstance, but nonetheless. He’d been saving the tears for the actual funeral and what-not, so he tried not to think about it too hard. He really didn’t want to seem like he didn’t care about the whole ordeal, because he did. It just felt like if he got emotional, he might go down and not bounce back. They would ask things like “What happened to the old Richie?” or some other thing like that. “Richie? Upset? No…”

The entire flight to Maine, he stared out the window and sort of rehearsed little one liners to spit out at tense moments. Thought about what he might say about Stan to other people.

“He was such a good friend. Always wise beyond his years. Old man in a young body! So sad he passed. Hope he’s happier now.”

The past was the past, or so he thought.

But now it was back. Haunting him. Eddie knew about the funeral now, and would probably be there, and Richie would probably have to make eye contact, make a conversation. He knew it was different now, but he felt afraid of what might hurt him if they saw each other again. Or, god forbid, what if he slipped up, said something he regretted? “Oh Eddie, I know that this whole funeral thing sucks. But, I’m so happy to see you because I found you absolutely INTOXICATING as an eleven-year-old! I loved hanging out and taking care of you because I had a big GAY CRUSH on you. Oh, but yeah that was old times, HEE HEE.”

It might’ve been easy to joke about if he didn’t feel that way anymore. But that phone call…the way he sounded so...the same. So much like old Eddie. It made his heart pound. 

They landed, and he got off the plane, exhausted. He hadn’t slept nearly at all, and still didn’t feel like sleeping. Being so close, he just couldn’t quell the unease. 

He picked up his bags, got in the rental car—a red Ferrari—and started his drive to Derry. Upon arriving, he started to recognize things immediately, and remember. The big Paul Bunyan statue, the pharmacy, the arcade, the…bridge. Little nostalgic things came flooding back, almost overwhelmingly so. 

Suddenly, he was craving seeing the Losers again. He pulled into the parking lot for the Derry townhouse, parked, got out, and took a deep breath. He started to the door, holding his light suitcase, and went inside. 

A man was at the front desk. “Richie? Is that you?”

“Mike!”

“It is you! I didn’t think you would show up first.”

“Oh please, you say that as if I didn’t get invited. How have you been? Living in Derry still?”

“I mean, yeah. I’m the librarian.”

“Ah! Alright, we gotta talk more when everyone is here, I don’t want to make you repeat yourself more than necessary. But, in the meantime, what do you do again?”

“I’m a…. wait…you’re trying to mess with me right now.”

“Ha! And you almost fell for it. Anyways, I’m gonna go get all settled in. Do you think we should all…" He trailed off, a little worried about suggesting doing something fun in the shadow of the reason they'd all come there. Thankfully, Mike didn't hesitate to step in.

“Yeah, I have a reservation at a Chinese place.”

“We have Chinese now? How the world has changed...”

Mike chuckled hollowly, “Yeah, yeah. Do you know anything about Eddie? You called him, right?”

Richie didn’t hesitate. “Yep! He’s on his way.”

~~~

Richie was starting to wonder if Eddie was, in fact, on his way. Everyone had showed up so far. Bill had come in, looking handsome as ever. He’d grown into his looks and was quite charming, although it seemed like a permanent frown had wormed itself onto his face. Beverly came next, beautiful but still so like Beverly. She looked a little frazzled, and Richie hoped things had changed for her. The last person to arrive was who he assumed must be Ben, but the guy DID NOT look like Ben. He was muscular, broad shouldered, square jawed, HANDSOME. It wasn’t like Richie expected him to be ugly or anything, but he hadn’t quite expected that Ben might look as cool as he WAS cool. It made sense why Richie pursued comedy--he looked as funny as he was funny. 

That left only one more person. Eddie.

Richie felt…well, guilty didn’t feel like the right word, but it was part of it. Tense, maybe. He wasn’t sure what to expect except what was probably inevitable—Eddie, angry at him for calling so late. Richie couldn’t exactly defend himself there; he would likely have to accept the loss. But, outside of the worry, there was some strange hope. Eddie hadn’t forgotten him, as was proven by the phone call. Eddie might still remember all the stuff from when they were young. Well, hopefully not all of it.  
There were many moments he could look back to where Eddie was fragile, so fragile, with only anxiety fueling him. There had been times where he asked strange things, things that felt disturbing, that made Richie upset to think about.  
~~~  
Derry, 1990

“Have you ever thought about…dying?”

“What?”

Richie turned to look at him. They were laying on Eddie’s bedroom floor—Richie had snuck in—and had been talking about something along the lines of how school sucked, Bowers was an asshole, just superficial things. Richie was surprised, confused, and then…worried.

“You know, just like…what happens when you die. Like if things are worse or better or just…gone.” Eddie continued, uncharacteristically solemn.

“I mean, I haven’t really thought about that.” Richie said, “I think I’ll think about it when I’m older, when it’s more like…time.”

“I just…” Eddie hesitated “Sometimes I feel so trapped. I just don’t know what to do, and like I’m not unhappy I just want to get out, like just leave and never come back. I’m almost never around any of you guys anymore, I mean, no one would notice except for my mom. But I don’t know, she might get over it…”

Richie held his breath. He had no idea what to say, partially because he wasn’t sure if Eddie was still talking about dying or just running away. So much of him ached to just say what he was always feeling--I love you, we all love you, we would miss you so much, and you’re so, SO wrong about how things would happen—but he was afraid, afraid of what might come out, that Eds might get all weird about Richie saying he loved him. So, he abbreviated what he could.

“Eddie, we would all miss you. The Losers haven’t forgotten about you, we talk about you all the time. You just have to get through a few more years of all this and then you can move away.” Saying it hurt his heart just a little, the idea of Eddie leaving was terrifying. He continued. “Your mom would probably love having more alone time with me, but I’m sure she would miss bossing you around forever. If you…ran away.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, a small smile returning to his somber expression. “Yeah…”

“Plus, I’d miss you most of all, Spaghetti.” Richie wasn’t sure what expression to make as the words tumbled out. He quickly settled on a lopsided grin.

Eddie looked at him, straight into his eyes before responding,

“Yeah, I’d miss you too.” 

Those words felt like electricity in his skin, and Richie tried to ignore how close they were. Maybe 6 inches away from each other’s faces, really. He hadn’t really noticed how he was kind of breathing Eddie’s breath until just that moment. So, he decided to point it out. “Your breath smells, Eds” It didn’t.

“What? Why are you smelling my breath? Gross.” Eddie recoiled a little “You’re acting like some weirdo.”

Richie didn’t know what to say to that. He was all lined up to have a good give and take, but instead he felt kind of shut down. He tried to cover it up. “Eddie, you’re the one who rolled over into my breathing area.”

“*Your* breathing area?” Eddie scoffed “This is my house, and my room. If anything, the whole thing is my breathing area. I’m just lending it to you. You should be grateful.”

“I am grateful. But you’re right. My closest breathing area is between your mom’s legs.”

“W-What? Shut the fuck up Richie.”

Richie smiled, and Eddie, though flustered, smiled back.  
~~~  
Eddie was definitely on his way, but not until every string was pulled, every medication packed, and every accommodation made. Myra had vigorously pushed back, urged him to not go back after what his “Awful friends” had done to him. He wanted to agree, but something just told him he needed to go. He needed to be there.

After all the insisting, he found himself back in Derry, in his own rental car. It felt so small after living in New York for so long, and it reminded him of the memories with his mother. Bittersweet. He pulled into the Derry townhouse as well, between some slick red car and a ford something or other. Four rentals. Which meant he was probably the last one 

He got out of his own large SUV (the safest car on the road) and took out his suitcase. Well, more, lugged it out. He wouldn’t be afraid to say he overpacked but seeing as he had no idea how long he wanted to be there and what they would be doing, he thought it would be reasonable to bring a little bit of everything. He heaved it up the stairs of the townhouse, opening the door to be greeted by who he assumed to be Beverly.

“Eddie? Is that you?”

“As it happens, yes.” He said, not trying to be curt necessarily but kind of coming off that way. She was still pretty, her hair now about mid-length, and seemed just a little on edge. He couldn’t blame her. “Where’s everyone else?” He said, trying to sound slightly more warm.

“In their rooms, just unpacking and stuff before we head out to dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yes, you _ have _ had dinner before right?” She was teasing, but Eddie was quick to defend himself.

“No, I mean, YES I just didn’t know what we were doing, Richie told me barely ANYTHING, and I’m so confused…” Eddie trailed off, realizing what he was saying probably wasn’t important. Eddie wanted to bring up why she didn’t just call him instead of telling Richie to, because she was clearly the organizer of this whole event, but he had no idea how to ask without making it sound suspicious. Instead, he waited for her to fill in the silence.

“We’re having a sort of…celebration of life before all of the mourning, I guess. I have this idea in my head that we might share our favorite stories about him together. I just don’t want it to be too dismal. Richie didn’t tell you?” She looked legitimately…disappointed? Eddie was unclear why she would be, except that Richie was being a shithead since they last talked which happened to be the only time they’d talked since the whole thing in high school. Maybe Bev noticed it too. He opened his mouth to say something, maybe ask her about it, when someone came down the stairs. Eddie turned, suddenly worried that it would be Richie. 

Thankfully, it was just…Ben? “Eddie! Long time no see!”

“Hey, Ben, it has been a long time. You’re….”

“Fit?”

“No, different.”

Ben just laughed, “I have lost a few pounds, I’m not surprised you noticed. How are you?”

“Just a little bit jet-lagged. Kind of worried. Where’s my room?”

Ben smiled, and Eddie wasn’t sure why. “Here, I’ll help you bring that up. It’s the second one on the right.”

“Thanks.” Eddie let Ben take his bag and followed him up the stairs. He tried not to think about the times he missed, the things he felt bitter about. And yet, they were all there.

“Eds? You’re here!” A familiar face poked their head out from the bedroom next to his, and Eddie’s heart sank. Richie.

Richie looked happy to see him though, and this made Eddie completely forget all the things he was planning to say, but his mouth started moving before he could stop it.

“You…Richie…. You didn’t tell me about the dinner…” It came out soft, softer than he would like, and it took him a moment to realize Richie had called him Eds.

“Oh, come on now. No hello? I missed you, Spaghetti.”

Eddie couldn’t forget that one and groaned exasperatedly “Don’t call me that. Unless I can call you trash mouth. Trash mouth.”

Richie smiled at that, and it made Eddie smile a little too. Richie also looked different, but in some ways, he hadn’t changed—the glasses looked better, he wore a leather jacket now. His hair looked pretty much the same, besides a 4-o clock shadow. It was like no time had passed at all. Richie was still…Richie. 

Ben interrupted his thoughts, opening the door to Eddie’s new room. “Here you go. Get settled in, we’re leaving pretty soon. I’ll be…downstairs.”  
Eddie couldn’t put his finger on Ben’s tone. Was he trying to say something? It didn’t matter, Richie had already wandered into Eddie’s room. He was peeping around, looking in the shower, out the curtains. 

“What are you doing?”

“Just securing the perimeter.” Richie opened his mouth for a second, before closing it quickly. It seemed a little like Richie was looking for an excuse to keep talking.

“Thanks, I guess.”

“So, how’s life? New York?” Richie said.

Eddie sighed, not really having it after having to book an impromptu flight. “Richie, can’t it wait until dinner? I’ve got some stuff to do.”

“Like what? Break the luggage carrier with your fifty-pound bag?”

“It’s not fifty pounds!”

“So how much does it weigh.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate “Its forty-ni—"

“Forty-nine pounds! Hah!”

“Whatever. I gotta change out of my plane clothes into my other clothes. I don’t want to just wear anything.” Eddie was looking for an excuse to get this intoxicating, fun-to-talk-to man out of his room. He really didn't feel like just jumping back in.

“Oh, come on. That’s kind of a direct diss at me, you know that? I mean, look at me. I’ve been wearing these clothes all day, on and off the plane. You’ll be ok, alright?”

It was awkward the way Richie just…said that. It was like he didn’t realize that time had passed, that things were different. He couldn’t just tell Eddie things were ok, because they weren’t. Nothing was ok. 

Nothing had been ok for a long time. 

There was no doubt that Eddie wanted it back, wanted everything to just be normal, to be Richie’s friend, best friend even. But it just felt unfair. Unfair that Richie could just decide when they were friends or not. And Eddie knew it wasn’t that deep, and yet...

~~~

Richie was trying to understand why Eddie looked so strained after he spoke. He wanted to say something, but instead his mouth started going. Which happened to be right when Eddie said something.

“Look, I’m—”

“I think I’m going to—”

Richie stopped, letting Eddie speak. 

“I think I’m gonna just change my shirt. If you don’t mind leaving me alone for a second.” He sounded a little cold, which was a sudden change of mood. Not knowing what was really going on, Richie just walked out, shut the door, and leaned on the wall.

He had thought this might happen, the whole grudge thing that was going on. Part of Richie just thought Eddie would forget about all the shitty things he did to push him away and just remember they were friends, friends who teased and went back and forth and maybe were a _ little _ handsy but were friends, at least. If Eddie just understood why Richie had been an ass for so long, maybe he’d be less weird to talk to. But for Eddie to understand why, Richie would have to share...too much. Well, more than he was ready to share. Probably ever. 

Just then, Eddie walked out. He looked, well, cute. Cute as ever, really. Still boyish, but handsome. Richie tried not to look too hard, but his eyes caught Eddie’s, who frowned.

“Are you ready to go?” Eddie said. 

“Yeah, ARE you?” Beverly called sarcastically from the floor below. “You’ve been up there for kind of a while now.”

At that, Eddie walked past Richie, and headed down the stairs.


	3. Don't Wanna Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie works on talking to Eddie, the Losers hold a get-together/memoriam, and Richie sees a stranger.

Though Richie thought things were going to be weird, as soon as the whole group of them were back together, everything fell back into its normal rhythm. They got to the restaurant, and he sat next to Eddie immediately. When he turned to talk to him, however, he had turned away and was talking animatedly with Ben. Wow, that stung. So, he turned back around and started talking to Bill.

“How’s the career. Writer, huh?”

Bill shrugged. He kind of seemed more slumped than anyone else there, probably thinking about the upcoming funeral. “I mean, it’s ok. I just got one of them turned into a movie. It’s definitely a change of pace to be directing something that I wrote.”

“I’d expect you to be poor, like, the starving artist type.”

“Don’t talk to me about starving artist. You’re the comedian here.”

“I mean, you’re right. But you didn’t need to say it.” Richie smiled a little, and Bill seemed to force a smile himself. Man, this conversation was turning tragic. “So, wife, kids? Are those a thing?”

“I mean, yeah. My wife is one of my actresses.”

“Not gonna lie that sounds a little rigged.”

“Oh please.”

A silence fell between them, and Richie was about to speak when Bill beat him to it. “What’s the deal with—"

“I don’t really know, to be honest.” Richie replied quickly, thinking that Bill was talking about something else

“—with your life? Wait, what did you think I was gonna say?” Bill’s eyes had lit up with curiousity, and Richie laughed, quick to deflect.

“Oh! Nothing important. I’ve been doing the tours solo. Don’t need a ball and chain here!” Richie was really struggling with the jokes, because none of them were landing.   
At all. “Anyways, what do you write about? Scary stuff, right?”

“You haven’t read any of my books?”

“I mean…”

“I’ve seen your comedy specials…the one on Netflix was pretty good.”

“Ha!” Richie didn’t know what to say to that. “I’ve just seen your books around. The one with the title that’s like, made of sticks.”

“Yeah…”

“So, was it for creepy effect, or just because someone told you to do it that way? Just read your book and was like ‘This deserves the creepy stick font.’”

Bill laughed a bit at that “I mean, the books about some kids that go missing a forest, this whole mystery thing. I think it would be kind of silly to not take advantage of the creepy forest element.”

“Yeah! Like me not making comedy about my thick fucking glasses. An absolute waste.”

The conversation seemed to warm after that, as they were soon laughing with each other, getting their minds off the fucked-up parts of life. The food came, and Richie started talking across the table to Beverly, who was keen on teasing him. Even Eddie joined in the group conversation, which made Richie feel slightly better about what happened earlier. They just needed to relax a little, talk and tease. 

“So, Eddie, what’s your life like. New York?” Beverly asked.

“It’s alright. I do some work for a big company. My wife kind of—”

“Hold up. You’re married?” Richie interjected. Eddie looked caught off guard.

“Yeah—”

“To a WOMAN?”

Eddie frowned, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “What I was saying is that my wife got me into doing work for a company. I do risk analysis.”

“I’d expect you to be a doctor…” Bill said, “With all of the medications and everything.”

Eddie shrugged. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it. So, Richie quickly switched the focus to Ben. “Mister Muscles now, huh?”

“Yeah, just a lot of commitment to working on myself. I’ve kind of built up a company, started my own thing. It’s alright.”

Richie scoffed “Psh, alright? I’d say you’re doing great. Handsome, successful…”

“Oh, come on, you’re successful too.” Beverly pointed out.

“Yeah, but not handsome like you, Bev. It’s like I’m surrounded by a bunch of goddamn super models right now. What the hell happened to me?”

Mike started tapping his glass, interrupting. “Alright guys, so…you all know what we’re doing here. And me and Bev just wanted to bring things around to…” he trailed off, seeming to not really have the words. Mike wasn’t a great speech giver.

Beverly quickly jumped in. “We wanted to just talk a little about our favorite memories of Stan. No sad shit, alright? He’d want it this way.”

Richie found himself suddenly quiet, staring into the corner of the room. It wasn’t long until Ben started talking.

“I remember when I built the Clubhouse, and Stan brought in those ridiculous shower caps. He said something about how it was to keep the spiders out of his hair. Stan was always so smart that way. Thinking ahead.” Everyone nodded, a few chuckled at the memory. 

Then, to Richie’s surprise, Eddie began to speak. “I remember when Stan used to walk me to the pharmacy. He always listened to what I was worrying about, even when it was stupid. And sometimes, he told me it was stupid, right then and there.” That got some laughs. “Usually he was right. He was just…um…wise. I guess.”

Beverly went next, after a brief pause of everyone thinking. “Stan was a great gossiper. But not because he liked throwing dirt on anybody. He just loved analyzing what people did and talking about it. He could dissect someone’s intentions really well.”

Richie was just about ready to pipe in with something when Bill started “He called me, when he read my book. He said it was awful, but also the best thing he ever read. He even sent me a copy to sign a few weeks ago…” 

Richie didn’t dare breath as the air grew heavy. He really couldn’t just…follow that. And yet, after a few moments, Bill looked at him expectantly. Crap.

Richie swallowed before speaking, trying to sort of bring it around. “Stan was bold. He was always thought a lot and so he had a lot to say. I think I was the only one who came to his bar mitzvah—and I don’t blame you guys, it was boring as hell—but he gave this great speech that went on a little too long, about how he didn’t feel ready to not be a kid. He didn’t want to fake anything, or pretend he was fine when he wasn’t.”

The memory had always stuck with him, Stan admitting being scared, being uncertain. Never pretending. Richie envied that. 

Bill took a deep, shuddering breath before he said what everyone else was probably thinking.

“I guess I just don’t understand. Why he left.”

After that, the room grew quiet, everyone looking between each other and the ground.

Finally, Beverly cut through the silence. “Alright.” She raised her glass, “To a smart, honest, wise, funny guy. To our friend, Stan.”

Richie raised his glass as everyone else did, each of them giving a murmured “To Stan” before drinking. It really wasn’t appropriate to make a joke so, unlike how he was when he was younger, he put down the shovel so he wouldn’t dig his own grave. Instead, he looked around the room, looked out the window. That’s when he saw….it. 

Well, not it, but a guy. Just standing there, staring at him. Hands in his pockets, a huge smile on his face. Richie knew who it was almost immediately, but he hadn’t seen him in years. It couldn’t be him, it wasn’t him, he was in jail.

Right?

He blinked, wiped his glasses, and looked again.

Gone.

Bill was looking at him, and it seemed like the fear was contagious because he started stuttering again. “R-Richie. Hello?” He then moved his chair to look out the window himself. “W-wuh-what’s out there?”

Richie looked back at him and easily put on a smile. “Just thought I saw something. Well, someone.”

Bill looked sympathetic before putting a hand on Richie’s shoulder. “I- I see him too.”

Richie was confused. Had Bill been…was Bill… Stupidly, he asked, “Who?”

“Stanley.”

Ah, fuck, of course. 

“Yeah.” Richie played along.

By the time dinner was over and Ben had picked up the check, Richie’s mind had wandered away from the person outside. He was back to playful banter, even going so far as to tease Eddie a little more, test the boundary.

“So, Eds--”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Eds, I’m just curious. What’s your wife like?”

“Well, she’s—”

“Does she wear glasses, Hawaiian shirts, and do comedy?”

Eddie scoffed, “What, do you think I married someone as ugly as you...No, she’s better than that.”

Beverly was staring at Richie now, looking for a reaction that Richie refused to give. It stung to hear, but he wasn’t going to be deterred from their first normal-ish conversation

“How on earth could you get any better than that…Oh wait, she could have her last name be Tozier.” 

“Ok, fuck off.”

“You know how I got the “toes” in Tozier?”

Eddie was wearing down, “How?”

“Sucked em off your wife.”

“Ok, enough about my wife….”

“Just…can I see a picture of her?”

Eddie pulled out his phone and scrolled an insane amount of time before he found their wedding picture. Weird how the only picture she had of him was of their wedding. Eddie seemed rather proud when he said, “Look, she doesn’t look at all like you.” 

Richie took one look, and guffawed.

“You’re right, she isn’t like me. She looks like a younger version of your mom.”

“S-shut up ok” Eddie flushed and put his phone back in his pocket. They had started to walk out to their respective cars.

“Hope she’s better than that witch.” Richie tagged on as an afterthought, a little more serious. Eddie seemed a little unsure how to respond before he spoke.  
“Yeah.”

‘You deserve better’ was the thought in Richie’s mind, but he didn’t say it. Instead, he let the silence hang over them. Eddie seemed to be warming up to him, thankfully, and it didn’t feel super uncomfortable. 

“So, do you have anyone? In your life, I mean.”

“No. Too much work.” Richie lied. He had all the time and energy in the world to spend on dating. “I’m pretty committed to fucking your mom anyways.”

“She’s dead.”

Ack, shit, that fell hard. “You know our relationship crossed this physical realm. I’ll get out my Ouija board, she’ll spell out something like ‘G-E-T N-A-K-E-D COMMA T-O-Z-I-E-R.”

Eddie chuckled a bit, grimacing as he did “That’s so fucking gross ok.” 

Yes, he got Eddie to chuckle. FINALLY. Richie shrugged before he headed to his own car

As soon as he was behind the tinted windows, he groaned and put his hands on his face. He fucked up so much back there. He felt like the football player who broke his arm or some shit going back to the locker room, as well as the coach telling him he could have done better. Simultaneously the coach and the football player. Yikes man.  
He drove back to the townhouse, the man in the street in the back of his mind. That shit would have to sort itself out another day, because it couldn’t possibly be real. 

Henry Bowers couldn’t be out of jail by now. 

Could he?


	4. Freefall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mike squeals, Richie feels, and Eddie heals (?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was probably my favorite chapter, as it was the easiest one to write. Writing dialogue is probably my favorite thing. In any case, please enjoy this chapter

Eddie drove back to the townhouse with a knot in his gut. Not from the Chinese food or anything, though that could be part of it--most of it just felt like residual tension washing up from the years he’d been telling himself he was going to kick Richie’s ass the next time he saw him. Obviously, as seen during dinner, that didn’t really pan out because as soon as he’d seen Richie, he could barely keep a straight face. All Eddie wanted to do was forgive him now, knowing how weird and lonely he’d probably been.

Ah, who was he kidding. He was obviously trying to see a human, compassionate side to Richie, of which there was none. Ok, of which there had been, but it left, and then maybe it came back but that wasn’t the point. Richie was still a mother-trucker to him. An asshole who abandoned him to grow with other people. And Eddie didn’t want to forgive that—ok, he did, but he wouldn’t—out of principle at least.

He started walking up the stairs to his room when he had to scooch past Mike and Beverly, who were talking rather animatedly outside of his room.

“All I’m saying, Bev, is that the clubhouse is probably a wreck by now. It’s not very safe.”

Ben, from wherever he was, yelled “I HEARD THAT.”

“Well, what’s the harm in visiting it? Just to see?” Bev shot back.

Eddie shut the door behind him and started on unpacking. It felt good to just start doing something. He went through all his clothes and sorted them, even set out his clothes for the next day. He went into the bathroom to put his medications away, opening the mirrored cabinet and putting all the stuff on the shelves. When he closed it, there was a figure in the mirror, beside him, but before he could say anything, the person had grabbed his head and jammed a knife into his cheek.

“AAAACK! pftggh!” Some part of him was telling him to be thankful it wasn’t some other part of him which had been stabbed, but the overwhelming voice in his head was screaming what the fuck. Currently, with a blade between his teeth—oh god, A BLADE between his TEETH—it was kind of hard to get anything out anyways. He turned to face the other person, who he almost immediately recognized.

Henry Bowers began to laugh, a weird, crazy kind of hysterical laugh. Eddie tried to laugh with him, slowly backing away. This was a crazy man. This crazy man had killed his own parents. This man should be in jail. What the fuck. What the actual fuck.

“Uhhahaa….” He stepped into the shower and slowly pulled the curtain in front of him. Thinking quickly, he pulled the blade from his cheek and tried not to hyperventilate and give away his plan. Meanwhile, Bowers was just laughing and laughing. What was so fucking funny?

Quickly, Eddie jabbed the blade through the curtain, and it stuck into some fleshy part of Bowers, which must have hurt enough because he stopped laughing. Now Eddie was nervously laughing. Oh god, did he just kill this guy? Oh god, was he going to go to jail?

He inched around the now curtain covered Bowers and out the open bathroom door, quietly shutting it, and then putting a chair from the room’s desk under the handle, the way people in movies did. He didn’t know how that worked, because he’d never been stabbed in his fucking face by a crazy man. Of whom was hitting the bathroom door now, kind of just hitting his fists against it. It wasn’t like he was trying to break it down, but that was enough to send Eddie running into the hallway.

“I’m just telling you Mike, it might be nice to go visit before the funeral.”

“This is already kind of a lot for everyone. Bill was pretty upset…” Mike said the last part quietly before acknowledging that Eddie had full force slammed the door behind him.

“Oh hey Eddie, wait, you’re bleeding…” Mike said before “Oh, fuck, that’s a lot of blood….HRRK.”

“Eddie, how did you…” Beverly started, taking his chin and turning it to look at his wound. 

“Fttsttv…” He sputtered.

“GUYS! COME OUT HERE, WE NEED SOME HELP!!” Mike started yelling, now at a safe distance. Eddie frantically put his finger to his bloody lips though he couldn’t explain why. Some part of him was convinced that Bowers didn’t know everyone else was here.

Ben came out, and, seeing him, rushed to Eddie’s side. “What happened.”

“He-s” Eddie said carefully, trying not to open his mouth too much, though the small amount he did sent blood down his chin.

“In the room?” Ben finished, and Eddie nodded. Ben got up and seemed to think about what he could brandish as a weapon, running to his room and returning with a fire poker before he marched into Eddie’s, despite Eddie’s frantic sputtering. 

It was then that he turned his face to see Richie, wearing boxers and an ugly band shirt, had joined the crowd of people watching Eddie bleed to death. Beverly was telling something to Richie about going to get something for Eddie’s wound, and Richie got up and ran to his room, and came back with a shirt. A white shirt.

‘Really, Richie?’ Eddie tried to say, but it came out as a sort of annoyed burble. Richie pressed the T-shirt against Eddie’s face, holding his other cheek to steady him. Eddie couldn’t decipher the look Richie gave him, because he’d never seen Richie look at him so forcefully. It was something like pain, but he didn’t understand why. 

Ben came out of Eddie’s room, frantic. “He’s not there.”

Bill had finally walked out, and turned to Ben “Who’s where?”

“The guy who stabbed Eddie.”

“I just thought he cut himself shaving.” Richie mumbled sarcastically. But Bill walked into the room as well, seemingly unconvinced, to check out the scene of the crime. Richie’s hand hadn’t left the good side of Eddie’s face.

Bill came out to confirm exactly what Ben had said, “Yeah, whoever stabbed you is gone.”

Eddie stared straight at Richie, “Bowers.” He finally managed to say 

Richie went pale. He was visibly…still. Not breathing for just a second before the mask came back down. “What the fuck would that asshole be doing here? Isn’t he in jail or some shit?” 

Bill looked just about as concerned and thought for a moment before he spoke. “Lock your doors tonight. And windows, I guess. E-e-eddie, you’re gonna bunk with someone.”

Richie was quick to pipe up, “He can sleep in my room. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Beverly gave Richie a glance that Eddie didn’t catch, and Richie started going off at her, “What, someone’s gotta do it. I’ve got the biggest room.”

“All the rooms are the same.”

“Mine’s the biggest though. It would have to be, or I wouldn’t be able to rest my enormous head.”

“Are you guys gonna like, get me some fucking bandages or some shit? I’m dying here.” Eddie said loudly, to try and change the subject. 

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I think you’re probably the only one who brought any…” Beverly murmured. “They’re in your room, right?”

“Yeah, bathroom cabinet. I was putting them there before Bowers jumped— “Eddie wanted to vomit at the taste of the blood in his mouth, he’d been talking too much. He gagged a little before continuing “— jumped me.” 

Beverly went into the room, and came out with some gauze, tape, and a sewing kit, and Eddie waited patiently.  
~~~  
Richie stayed knelt beside Eddie, cradling his face as Beverly started stitching the wound in Eddie’s face. He tried not to look at Eddie too much, keep it impersonal, but Eddie was staring at him like he had nowhere else to look. He felt a little in the spotlight but didn’t know what to say. 'I saw Bowers earlier but didn't say anything'? ‘Kiss me, you fool’? ‘You sure are staring a lot for someone who just lost a fight’?

Beverly, meanwhile, had finished the stitching and was cutting the gauze to a small square to cover Eddie’s cheek. “Is that ok?”

“Well…” Eddie seemed like he was going to say something sarcastic before he stopped himself, “Yeah, it is. Thanks Bev.” 

Everyone seemed to retreat after that, going their separate ways, locking their doors. Richie got up, helped Eddie up, and headed to his, well, their room. Richie immediately started taking some blankets off the end of the bed and threw them on the floor. He needed to be clear about what was going on, and he was, until Eddie spoke.

“You’re really gonna sleep on the floor?”

“Yes, that was the plan. I told you.” Richie said, trying desperately to make sure Eddie couldn’t suggest anything else, but Eddie went on.

“I mean, it’s kind of a big bed.”

God damn it. If he slept in the bed with Eddie, Eddie might smell the gay on him. What if he slipped up, said something in his sleep…he shouldn’t have offered to bunk with Eddie, and yet the temptation had led him to this point, this stupid situation where he had to make this awkward decision. He needed to be stern, maybe a little cold, “Look man, if you really want to sleep on the floor so bad, I’m fine with that.” Wow, ok, not that cold.

Eddie looked a little hurt as he shrugged. “I was saying we could both sleep in the bed, asshole.” 

As much as Richie wanted to say yes-- to agree, sleep with their backs to each other and not talk—he knew, deep inside he couldn’t do it. The Bowers thing had him on edge about being around Eddie. “I’ve already thrown all this stuff on the ground, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds. And come on. If you sleep on the floor, I will too.”

“Oh, come on, you’re really doing this? Wasting the bed like that?”

“I’m freaked the fuck out ok. I’m not just gonna sleep in the bed while you lurk on the floor. What if I get up in the night and step on you?”

Richie rolled his eyes at the word ‘lurk’ “Well…what if…Bowers…comes back? If he walks up to you, I can just bite him in his ankles.”

“…So, he falls forwards onto me and stabs me again?” There was a hint of a smile on Eddie’s face. Richie knew Eddie couldn’t resist bantering with him, even if he was mad.

“In this scenario he falls backwards…”

“I think if his intent was to attack me, he would be quicker to fall forward and stab me, get it all done.”

“No, I’m staying down here.”

“Then I am too.”

“Oh, you wanna play that game? You wanna dance?”

“Yeah, I wanna dance. I’m sleeping on the floor.”

“Then I’m sleeping on the bed.”

“Well, that’s a shame. I guess I am too.”

Richie rolled his eyes. Eddie was being insufferable. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me!”

“I didn’t roll my eyes.”

“I just saw you!! You know what? Whatever. I know what you’re trying to do here.”

“What am I trying to do?”

“Annoy me until I sleep on the floor. Or the bed.”

“Which one is it?”

Someone hit the wall between the bedrooms, probably signaling them to shut the fuck up. Richie sighed, and sat on the bed. He was already in his pajamas sort of, and Eddie was just wearing his restaurant clothes. Richie was surprised that he wasn’t suggesting they go back to Eddie’s room to get new clothes. Maybe Eddie was freaked out. 

“Which side do you—” Richie started.

“Left.”

“The left from sitting in the bed or from looking at the bed?”

Eddie made some annoyed sound and went to the side closer to the window, and Richie started to get up, “Alright, I’m gonna turn off the light now.”

“Wait, I left some stuff in my room.” There it was.

“What, your nightlight?”

“No, my tooth brush.”

“You’re really gonna brush your teeth when you just got stabbed in the face?”

“I mean…my teeth.”

“It’s just gonna hurt you more. Your teeth will be fine. My teeth were fine after twelve years of not brushing them!”

Eddie cringed, “They were NOT fine. You had, like, two of them replaced.”

“Aw, you remember.”

“Also, you don’t have any clothes I can borrow?” Eddie gestured to his bloody shirt. 

“Oh. Yeah.” Richie had been avoiding looking at Eddie, as he felt pretty guilty about...sort of knowing what was going to happen...and admittedly hadn’t really noticed. He got up and dug in his disorganized bag, pushing aside his wrinkly black button-up, and pulling out another t-shirt. Richie had planned to wear it on his trip home.

“This work?” He looked over at Eddie who had just taken off his shirt. Fuck, don’t look, don’t look.

“…Yeah.”

“You’re not worried about the germs on my nasty shirt?”

“Just give me the shirt.” Eddie seemed a little self-conscious. He put it on quickly, not even looking slightly disgusted, just relieved. Richie walked over to the light switch.

“Alright. Lights out-o-clock now.”

“But—ok.” Eddie finally caved, getting under the covers as Richie turned off the lights. Richie could only assume he’d figured out the pants situation, but he didn’t want to ask, much less think about it.

Richie locked the door, then went to the window and locked that too before climbing into bed on his side. He closed his eyes and thought about sleeping. Listened to Eddie breathing, rolling over a few times before his breathing slowed. 

But something was shaking in the back of Richie’s mind, like some mind gremlin was playing a tambourine. Jumping around and shaking up memories that didn’t feel like memories, more like movie scenes where he happened to be the main character. 

Richie knew he had…something. He’d talked about it very vaguely with the celebrity therapist he saw for a few months. She’d told him some things to get his mind away from those things. To get out of therapy, Richie had pretended they worked. ‘It’s a miracle!’ he remembered saying before checking out of his last appointment. 

Man, he wished he remembered anything she’d said. Or listened to what she said, for that matter. He’d always listen in the moment, retaining enough to spit back out a few days later as if things had improved. It was easy for Richie to read what people wanted to hear-- it was his job, after all—and it was a good bullshitting tactic for school. But, now, he really wished he’d been vulnerable enough at any point of those months to just…be fixed. Or learn how to cope. 

He just hadn’t bared that much of himself to anyone in his life. At least, until Eddie. But even then, it got to a point where he couldn’t really share with Eddie. It felt like he was the drowning Leo Dicaprio, and Eddie was on that…door? Floating plank? It didn’t matter, Titanic was a stupid movie that made no sense. What he knew was that for the longest time he felt like he was just weighing down the door or whatever so that they’d both drown. 

So, he let go, and Eddie succeeded and did super well, and Richie just closed off from everyone, lost in the ocean again. 

By that metaphor, one could argue that there was, in fact, room for them both to fit on the door and survive whatever it was—the burden of childhood? In any case, the metaphor was getting a little too close to home and Richie didn’t like the sinking feeling that he’d made a big mistake all those years ago.

But he couldn’t…not make that decision. He had to. He still had to. Eddie was on an island, with a wife and a job, and Richie was just begging him to go back into the ocean, help Richie onto a door of his own so he could also move on.

But Richie couldn’t. Move on, that was. 

Or maybe he didn’t want to. Maybe he wanted to drag Eddie back into the ocean, relive the whole thing with him, and this time, overcome *with* Eddie.

But it didn’t matter, because now his face was screwing up and he was wincing into his pillow, cringing at all the feelings that were coming up. Eddie was right next to him. What if he could read minds now? No, Eddie couldn’t read minds. But what if he could? Richie tried to think of one word, one that might wake up Eddie if he could hear him. 

Penis. 

Nothing. No stirring, no rolling over. 

Richie kept thinking of words, half out of anxiety and half out of the desperation to think of anything else than the floating door or feeling lost. It was kind of stupid thinking of the longest or most memorable words he could to psychically send to Eddie, but it was sort of working. He finally settled into a comforting sort of mantra, one that he felt like he could repeat over and over.

_ ‘please understand’ _

_‘please understand’_

_‘please understand’ _

And with that, Richie finally fell asleep.


End file.
